His Name Is Alice
by BittersweetDeceit
Summary: To Santana, Puck, and Kurt, they've either tumbled into Wonderland or onto a Prank'd set. However, when they discover that the year is 1874 and the land is England, they begin to wish that they had indeed fallen into Wonderland - at least then they wouldn't have to deal with the travelling orchestra Warblers and the charming Malachi Blaine Anderson. AU!Time Travel!Klaine.
1. The Fire

**A/N Casually reuploaded. **

_**Title: **_**His Name Is Alice**

_**Rated: **_**T (for infrequent coarse language and mild sexual themes) Rating subject to change.**

_**Pairing(s): **_**Klaine (main), appearances of the other ships on Glee's sea.**

_**Warnings: **_**Besides some swearing, some mild sexual content and maybe some light violence, there aren't any specific warnings. AU theme, sci-fi/supernatural theme, pairings of the same sex (although if that bothers you, you must look at your life and look at your choices).**

**So, without further ado…**

_**His Name Is Alice  
**__Chapter 1 - The Fire_

"_Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa,  
__But not the way that I do love you.  
__Well, holy-moly, me-oh-my, you're the apple of my eye,  
__Girl, I've never loved one like you."_

Kurt clapped and hummed along, harmonizing lightly with the rest of the group, as Rachel and Finn crooned and teased each other center stage, singing the melodic duet together - as always.

Kurt threw his hands in the air on queue, twisted himself around and caught Brittany in his arms as Rachel and Finn continued to sing.

"_Man, oh, man, you're my best friend, I'll scream it to the nothingness,  
__There ain't nothing that I need.  
__Well, hot and heavy, pumpkin pie, chocolate candy, Jesus Christ,  
__There ain't nothing that please me more than you."_

Brittany reached over and grabbed Kurt's shoulder, spinning them together and spiraling into a playful, fast-paced slow dance. She leaned over to his ear. "I don't want to be mean, but I'm getting tired. Aren't we done yet?"

Kurt frowned. He clutched her waist and twirled her out but caught her right on time, pulling her back in. He glanced over to the other dancing couples and saw them to be just as bored and disinterested as he and Brittany were.

"Come on," he whispered, smiling slightly. Silently, with his hands, he motioned for Brittany to follow. With an inquisitive look, Brittany nodded and paused their routine.

Kurt crouched low to the ground and, with the urgent wave of his hand, led her off the auditorium stage to the band's quarters in the front. Brittany suppressed a laugh with a bit of difficulty and dropped to the ground, leaning against the base of the stage. Kurt sat down next to her and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now we're done rehearsing!" he muttered to her. Brittany nodded and smiled. The two rested on the floor, listening to the music continuing above them.

"_Oh, home, let me come home!  
__Home is whenever I'm with you."_

The music pulled to an abrupt, harsh stop; the guitar riffed and the cymbals resounded raucously. A foot stamped down, a foot to which Kurt assumed was Rachel's, and sure enough, not a moment later, her voice echoed out over the auditorium.

"Guys! What are you doing?" she asked, or rather, _demanded_, "C'mon, pick it up! I can see that your heart is not in this number - I can practically _feel_ it!"

Kurt rolled his eyes and stood, walking back up the stage stairs and crossing his arms. Brittany, although reluctant, joined him on the theatre floor.

Rachel stormed up to him, prodding a finger into his chest. "And why were you two down there? Canoodling?"

Kurt shook his head and eyed her in a disbelieving manner. "First, I choose to ignore that last question because it is utterly ridiculous and not worthy of an answer. And second, I think we should take a little break. We've been going at this same routine for two hours now, and as thrilling as hearing your voice for 120 minutes is, I think we just take five."

Rachel considered him for a moment, seemingly ignoring the voices of praise and mutters of consent behind her. "Fine. We'll take five."

"Marvelous." Kurt grinned mockingly at her.

The groups audibly sighed with relief, their shoulders relaxing and necks cracking. A quiet, sure murmur filled up the room as the group lounged around to talk, or more specifically, _not sing._

Kurt made his way towards Mercedes and Quinn, whom of which were silent but stretched out together. He sat down next to them, trying his best to overlook the feel of a dirty floor on his nice pants.

"Exhausted," was all he managed to push through his teeth. The girls nodded but did not open their eyes.

"Rachel," Quinn began.

"Is crazy," Mercedes finished for her, raising a small round of chuckles from the other two.

It's almost completely silent for the next minute or two. It seems that this break was well needed, and, really, well deserved. Mr. Schuester had thrown this assignment on them last minute, as he had proposed and was given permission to perform at an elderly home. He believed it would get their name out there, in the newspapers and news reports, but as wonderful as that plan had sounded, the time they were given to practice was less to none and they were beginning to feel the consequences.

Kurt glanced towards Rachel and Finn. The two were, as Rachel had put it, _canoodling_ in the corner of the stage, kissing lightly and exchanging small words. Kurt groaned and put his head back down.

Suddenly, a deafening, severe _bang_ crashed through the hushed mutterings. Kurt leapt up into a sitting position, startled and confused. Looking around, he saw the rest of the New Directions doing the same, all exchanging mystified looks. Mercedes stood, pulling Quinn up with her, and made her way to the door.

The rest of the group followed behind her, rushing towards the exit and pooling out into the hall. It seemed like the rest of the school had followed their mind set, as a hundred or so students crowded in next to each, shoulder-to-shoulder and congested, to look down the hall, where, supposedly, the noise had come from.

A tumbling, angry wall of fog sank from the ceiling and through the windows, though why it was there was nothing short of a mystery, and barreled it's way towards the horde of students and faculty.

Perplexed, though admittedly mesmerized, the occupants simply stared at it as it came closer and closer, picking up speed and growing darker and darker in color and core, until one lone voice yelled for everyone to run.

And just like that, it's every man for himself. Students run and push past each other, shoving others to ground in their haste to get away from whatever was rushing towards _them_. Kurt grew wide-eyed and he, too, began to sprint, through the crowds of people and away from the fire that he assumed was the cause of the abundance of smoke.

He stopped and looked around desperately for Mercedes, but was unsuccessful; the multitude of people around him left no space for sight. It was all movement, no direction. He grew more and more frantic, just as the ones around him did. He was shoved forward, impatient hands throwing him out of the way, legs kicking at his - it was pure chaos.

Yells erupted through the air, telling others to run, and unnecessary screams of terror warned anyone with ears of a fire. If Kurt had been thinking rationally, if thoughts other than _run, run, run_,were able to circulate his brain, then he would've compared this noise to the hushed murmurings in the auditorium; the both of these noises were constant, unrecognizable, but at different levels of urgency.

A voice all too familiar to Kurt rang through the air, managing to cut through the insistent rumble of yells and cries.

Kurt whipped around, eyes twitching as he took in the scene behind him. Santana was on her knees, clutching her wrist to her chest and gritting her teeth. He pushed his way towards her and knelt beside her, urging her to get up.

But it was too late.

The fog has already overtaken them, has suspended above them and circled around them. Kurt squints against the bleak colors and tries to listen, though impatient as he is to get out of there, to Santana's account of getting pushed over and trying to break her fall with her hand, which had, obviously, been in vain.

He begged her to stand up, so the two could get out of here before the fire reached them, and Santana made a move to get up, but suddenly a burly student ran through them, pushing Santana over on her side and kicking Kurt squarely in the chest.

Kurt gasped for breath, tears springing to his eyes. Before he could manage to get air, two bodies ran into his, knocking him from his kneeling position and sending him into the ground.

His head hit the ground with a force much too intense, and his vision began to blur and fade. He then blacked out, head lolling to the floor.

Puck, who was a bit in front of them, hadn't heard Santana's yell, though he did see the two of them fall. He hesitated, eyes narrowing in honest indecision. He swayed on his face, wanting nothing more than to run as fast as he could away from here to get to his own safety.

Finally, he pushed his way towards Santana and Kurt, trying to pull Kurt up over his shoulder while helping Santana to stand, but the fog had grown thicker and darker and Puck could hardly see anything in front of him.

Screaming out in frustration, Puck tried to pull the two along the floor to safety. But the smoke was circling around them and glowing and tightening in their throats, and they couldn't breathe.

The smoke continued to close around them.

The screams and yells seemed to fade away, fade into the distance. The voices shrunk until they were nonexistent. Puck and Santana couldn't see anything but the monochromatic fog around them, and soon even that became blurred and unclear.

Everything was unclear.

And, suddenly, the painful linoleum and concrete floor below them was gone, and was replaced by soft, plush grass; the chipped ceiling had disappeared, and in it's place, a cloudy sky - resembling much like the fog that had circled them.

Puck straightened to a sitting position, though he didn't remember laying down, and looked around himself.

His eyes widened, as did Santana's when he awoke her, and both found themselves speechless.

If the gravel road and the dated buildings in the distance were any evidence, it was certain: they weren't in Ohio anymore.


	2. Warning Signs

**A/N I've been doing some pretty heavy research for the project. Wow. That's a first.**

_**His Name Is Alice  
**__Chapter 2 - Warning Signs_

"Wa- wait," was the first thing out of Puck's mouth. "Is he _dead?_"

Santana, whose eyes had been shut tightly in pain, forced them open to look towards Puck and then to Kurt, who had landed cleanly on the ground but was still brutally unconscious. She stood shakily, grasping her broken wrist to her chest, and made her way over to Kurt's body. Puck crawled over apprehensively.

"No," Santana said, letting out a sigh of relief, "he's not dead. Didn't you even think to check for a pulse?"

"Of course not! _I've_ been checking around this place, trying to figure out where the hell we are!"

Santana grimaced. "Calm down, Puckerman. That tornado probably just threw us out into some field a mile off, or something."

Puck twisted around himself, checking his pockets and his jacket. "A tornado? I don't think so. Did you take my phone?"

"I can't even find my own," Santana said, face bent in confusion. "Check Hummel's pockets, maybe he still has his."

After the initial trepidation about checking an unconscious body for their possessions, Puck relented and found Kurt to be strangely away from his phone and wallet. Santana grew uneasy, thinking the worse whereas Puck tried to wave it off as simply being robbed. Neither thought was pleasant.

"Let's just try to find out where we are for now, alright? Then we can deal with getting back home. We can't have landed _far," _Santana conceded, shoulders slumping. She took off, walking with determination towards a hill, hoping to find some sort of gas station in sight.

Puck shrugged off his jacket at the look of Kurt on the ground, and balled it into what he figured to be makeshift pillow. He placed it under Kurt's head and reposition his body into a more relaxed position, remembering to have Kurt thank him when he woke up.

Not an hour later found the three, or two, really, looking around desperately for a clue as to where they were. The grass under their feet and the silence around them did not serve as much indication as they had hoped; it just seemed as if they had been dropped in the middle of nowhere.

"Dammit," Santana bit out, "This is hopeless."

Puck spared a glance at her through his hurried, frantic searching. "Yeah, you're telling me."

Off in the distance, wheels clattered noisily against a gravel road. Puck perked up, looking towards Santana with a quirked brow but a hopeful face. He motioned for her to follow him for an investigation, but Santana declined, telling him one of them had to watch Kurt and she wasn't up for moving due to her wrist. Puck nodded and ran quickly towards the sound.

Santana sat down next to Kurt and lounged her legs out before her. She prodded Kurt's slack jaw half-heartedly, murmuring, "Wakey-wakey, Hummel."

As expected, Kurt didn't respond.

Leaning onto her back, Santana tried to twirl her wrist, but was cut off by a scorching series of stabs instead. She tightened her teeth.

"Santana!" Puck called as he stumbled towards the two, looking thoroughly spooked. "You're not going to believe this."

"Try me," she grumbled wryly. Puck fell onto the grass next to her, shaking his head.

"I found the road," he said, "But there wasn't, like, a _car _on it. That sound we heard was a carriage, or something, a trolley!"

"That's great, Puck," Santana sighed, "But we still use trolleys, even though they're outdated and ugly."

"No, but that's not all of it! There were people riding on it and- no, wait, listen!" Puck hissed angrily when Santana opened her mouth to interrupt. "The people were wearing these old clothes, like the kind we see at museums - the long skirts and weird hats, those half-tuxedos!"

"Huh," Santana muttered. "I bet it's just a dress-up thing."

"Yeah, well, they saw me looking at them. They didn't wave or anything, just pointed and stared. It was kinda creepy."

Santana didn't have anything to say to that. For a moment, she paused and looked off to where Puck had seen the carriage, or trolley, of people. Finally, she just took a deep breath and rested her bad hand on her lap. "I'm not going to worry about that right now. We'll figure it out later. But what we _are_ going to do right now is fix my hand and get Kurt, here, to wake up. Alright?"

"Sure," Puck said cautiously, "but I don't know how to tie up a broken wrist. I think Kurt does, though."

Santana glared at him. "Thanks for nothing, Puck. I guess now we just have to play the waiting game."

When nightfall struck and Kurt still hadn't awoken, Santana and Puck grew anxious. Puck had built a fire with the box of matches in his jeans, and though they were comfortably warm and not particularly hungry, a deep uneasiness had set in. They still hadn't figured out where they were, or how they were to get back, and after Puck's explanation of the carriage on the gravel road, they were left as perplexed and alone as ever.

"Distract me," Santana muttered, eyes shaking in exhaustion.

Puck grinned and his eyebrows rose up, and upon seeing this, she quickly backtracked. "Not _that_ way, idiot. I'm with Brittany."

"Then how am I supposed to distract you?"

"By _talking._ You know, using those lips of yours for other things than eating a girl out."

Puck rolled his eyes and absently threw another stick into the roaring fire before them. "Okay, then, did you like the, uh, song we rehearsed today?"

"Not when Rachel and the Jolly Green Giant are singing it."

"Hey, my boy isn't a bad singer."

"Don't you think you and I could've done better? I've heard the song before and trust me, it'd be much better if we sang it instead of the blushing newlyweds."

"Fine, let's see if we are. You start - maybe your piercing voice can finally wake up Hummel."

Santana crossed her legs and stared into the fire. Nothing but the whistling air and the surplus of bugs around them made any noise, and Santana found herself craving something of the sort - something to kill the silence and release the tension from her shoulders, and it didn't look like Kurt was going to.

"_Moats and boats and waterfalls, alley ways and pay phone calls,  
__I've been everywhere with you." _

Puck subdued a grin. "I wish I had my guitar," he muttered absently before continuing the duet. "_That's true._

"_We laugh until we think we'll die, barefoot on a summer night  
Nothin' new is sweeter than with you."_

Santana's voice grew stronger, more indomitable in setting the silence alight, and she started to tap her leg in a solid beat.

"_And in the streets we're running free,  
__like it's only you and me."_

Puck and Santana joined together, Puck now rhythmically snapping along to Santana's beat, in the last line of the verse.

"_Geez, you're somethin' to see!"_ the two sang, laughing affably, celebrating the first bit of fun of the night; they were now irrevocably ridden of the tense silence between and around them.

"Yes," a sudden voice said from behind them, "You _are_ something to see."


	3. The Lifeline

**A/N Er. Goodnight/morning/afternoon. Pick the one that applies to you. Hope you enjoy! **

_**His Name Is Alice  
**__Chapter 3 - The Lifeline_

"Yes," a sudden voice said from behind them, "You _are_ something to see."

Santana and Puck whipped around, startled, but not before glancing quickly at Kurt, hoping for their visitor to believe he was sleeping.

However, in what they thought was one person, as they had only heard _one_ voice, did not turn out to be just a single person, but an entire group of people - perhaps fifteen men -staring at them in confusion. Puck leaned over to Santana's ear, whispering harshly, "Look! Look at their clothes. That's the kind I saw on the carriage."

Santana's eyes rolled up and down the bodies of those in front of them, eyebrows pulling together in wonder. The group shifted uncomfortably, presumably awaiting a response.

"Oh," Santana said, "And _you _guys aren't?"

The men chortled good-naturedly and sat down next to the fire, ignoring Puck's raised eyebrow. "I hope it is alright for us to share your fire. The night has already happened upon us and we are worn from traveling," one asked in a light English accent.

"Nah, it's fine," Puck dismissed, shooting Santana a look as discreetly as he could manage. Santana shot one back, trying to convey her hopes of learning their whereabouts from these people in one simple gaze. Puck, it seemed, understood.

"Where do you travel from?" the front man asked. "You don peculiar clothing - and your hair! I've never seen it styled so."

Santana glanced down slyly, if not proudly, at her tight blue dress and jean cardigan. In her marginal vision, she caught Puck rubbing a hand over his Mohawk defensively, much to the amusement of her and their new companions.

"Peculiar? I don't think so," Santana replied haughtily, "My dress is flawless, and Puck's hair is, you know, bad-ass."

"Oh, no, we never insinuated that your styling wasn't up to par. We just have never seen such _tight _clothing on a woman before or such a lack of uniformity from a man. Such odd clothes!"

"Excuse you," Puck snarled, "We think _your_ clothes are the odd ones."

"Well, at least we have reached a bonding point." Santana and Puck glared. The man continued, "Where did you say you were from again?"

Santana and Puck exchanged a wary glance. "Why don't we start with names, hmmm?" Santana asked, dodging the question. "I'm Santana, and this is Puck. Next to me, here, is Kurt." She gestured to Kurt's limp form and raised his arm, waving it with a frown.

"Is he dead?" a different, fearful voice asked, looking pointedly at Kurt's body.

Santana chuckled and shook her head. "Nope. Just knocked unconscious."

One of the members of the group, a boy with black locks slicked harshly to the side, with a raised eyebrow, said, "Your story is becoming more and more interesting by the moment."

"And what strange names! I've never met a Santana before, and Puck I have only read in Shakespeare," the front man mused. Others nodded in agreement, another speaking idly about a magazine he had read entitled "Puck", as well.

"Thanks for mocking everything about us," Puck said bitterly, crossing his arms.

"We only mock in the lightest, and most companionable, of ways," the front man said with a smile. "We haven't introduced ourselves yet, have we? Well, my name is David. And here we have Nicholas, Thad, Samuel…"

The list continued through their small group of fifteen. The players each raised a hand or gave a small sentiment in greeting, smiling politely. Santana and Puck watched with engrossed eyes and ears, stunned by the names and attitudes.

David finished off, gesturing to the boy with slicked, black hair. "And this is Malachi."

Malachi, who had previously been looking on at Santana and Kurt with worry straining his forehead, suddenly snarled and frowned. "David _knows_ I don't like to go by Malachi, yet he continues to introduce me as such. Please, I am Blaine."

"Alright, whatever," Puck sighed. "Well, nice to make your acquaintance or whatever."

Santana rolled her eyes, grimacing as her broken wrist shuddered restlessly on the ground. David, upon seeing this, started gently, "Miss, I can't help but notice that your hand is bothering you. Have you hurt it?"

"Uh, yeah," Santana confessed cautiously, "Puck doesn't know how to tie up a broken wrist, but our dear, unconscious friend does, so we've been waiting on him to wake up."

"Ah," David said, standing and brushing off his jacket. He strode over to a large pack behind the group and rummaged through it, retrieving a roll of cloth. "I believe I can bandage that up for you, if you'd like."

"Please!" Santana nearly exclaimed, ignoring the angry glower from Puck. "You know, I think I misjudged you guys. Once you get past the creepy properness, and the clothes, you're are alright by me - but that may just be the broken wrist talking."

The group laughed, relieving a bit of pressure from Puck's shoulders. He really wished he had something to defend himself with, but his pocketknife had been previously confiscated by the school, and all the weapon he had now was a box of matches. He knew Santana must have something, too, but it didn't disarm the knowledge that they were severely outnumbered if a deadly situation should arise.

David apologized as he lifted Santana's hand off the ground. He told her to hold it at chest level, and began to tear the cloth into thin strips. Puck watched on with diminishing interest. David motioned at Blaine and said, "And _Blaine_ is quite gifted in the areas of medicine as well. Perhaps, if you'd like, he could take a look at your friend - Kurt, isn't it?"

"Why?" Santana asked, suspicious, "Does he need to be looked at?"

"That's why Blaine should examine him," David explained, "Just to make sure he isn't choking on his own tongue or something of the sort."

"Oh, man," Puck groaned, "I never thought of that. Well, you can go ahead and do that, but we don't have any money to pay you guys or anything."

"Compensation isn't needed," David assured, "This is just one traveler helping another. Blaine, if you will?"

Blaine smiled and nodded. He followed David's path to retrieve something from the group's pack of belongings, poking around in the bag before fishing out a small case of water and a rag, smiling in success. He stepped carefully around the fire and his friends, sitting down only when he got to Kurt, eyebrows pulled together in concern.

Mentioning nothing of Kurt's supposed odd hair or attire, Blaine watered the rag and placed it gently on Kurt's forehead. His eyes squinted in concentration, grasping the back of Kurt's neck to examine the throat.

Puck, through his boredom, glanced over to Kurt and Blaine. "Hey!" he shouted in alarm. "What are you doing?"

Blaine continued his methodical actions calmly. He said soothingly, "I'm simply checking for bruising."

Puck eyed him. "Sure you are. You need any help?"

Blaine gently wrapped his arms around Kurt's back and pulled him into a sitting position. "Yes," Blaine said, "Could you hold him just so?"

Puck walked over and kneeled down, holding Kurt's body in a sitting position, and soon, as instructed, held Kurt's arms in front of him. Blaine, now with access to Kurt's shoulder blades, rubbed them meticulously, almost like a massage, Puck realized.

Blaine glimpsed up at Puck momentarily. He said, "You did the right thing by not waking him right away. You must always give the brain time to heal itself, as it could be dangerous to interrupt it during it's medicinal process."

"Right, right," Puck muttered. "And the massage thing you're doing, like, tells the brain that it's gotta get up?"

"Indeed," Blaine said. Kurt started a bit in Puck's arms, he noticed with happiness, but did not come around entirely.

Blaine told Puck to lay Kurt back down on his back, which he did with a pleased smirk, and Blaine draped the damp cloth against his forehead once more. Blaine leaned down, and with a sincere, apologetic frown to Puck, slapped Kurt's cheek, not lightly but not viciously - just enough to provide pressure and intent.

Kurt groaned, forehead creasing. Blaine delivered another slap to Kurt's face, nodding in satisfaction when his eyes slowly opened.

Kurt, head swimming and throbbing painfully, looked over to see Puck smirking at him in approval. Kurt grimaced and readjusted his vision, eyes locking on a figure next to Puck. He squinted, sitting up little by little until he rested on his elbows.

Santana saw him and grinned, waving with her good hand, until a sudden thought dawned on her. Her grin dropped from her face and her eyes widened, pure panic taking over her features. She hissed something to Puck, to which he responded with just as much alarm as she did, arms grappling out to grab hold of Kurt's arm.

Kurt wrenched his arm away and muttered something obscene in Puck's direction, rubbing at his eyes agitatedly. He sat up fully, finally taking a long look around him.

"Hello," Blaine said pleasantly, "Do you feel well?"

Kurt's face took on a bewildered expression, looking at Blaine with enlarged eyes and a raised eyebrow, before his eyes circled the entire group before him and he became unreadable.

"What's going on?" he asked, voice eerily calm.

"Well, I can't say I know how you became concussed, but-" Blaine started.

"Uh, Kurt, come with me for a sec', 'k?" Puck interrupted, grabbing back onto Kurt's arm and hauling him roughly to his feet. Kurt let out an indignant grunt and shook himself away from Puck's grasp.

He repeated, in a raised voice, "What's going on?"

Santana narrowed her eyes and whispered roughly for Kurt to go with Puck, just for a minute. Kurt stood his ground, eyes beginning to cloud over with self doubt and dread, saying, "No, Santana! Who are all you people? Where am I?"

"Kurt, c'mon," Puck insisted. Kurt held a hand up.

"No! Someone better tell me why I'm in the middle of a _field_ and not McKinley, or else I'll unleash hell," Kurt challenged, voice edging on a panicked tone. "Someone?"

"Kurt," Santana demanded, "You need to calm your tits."

"What's going on?" Kurt repeated, swaying slightly, "Oh, god, my head…" He lifted a hand to the back of his head, groaning softly.

"You must be tired!" Puck insisted immediately, "Let's go over there and I'll read you a bedtime story!"

"Wh- Puckerman!" Kurt exclaimed crossly, using the last of his strength. "Fine! I'll go with you."

Puck nodded and led Kurt away from the group, stopping just beyond the first hill. He paced back in forth in front of Kurt agitatedly, ignoring Kurt's huffs of annoyance. "You shouldn't of left Santana alone with twenty strangers, you know."

"She can take care of herself."

A beat passed. Puck continued to pace, looking every which way for some sort of answer the hills would somehow bring .

"What the hell is going on, Puck?" Kurt asked finally, crossing his arms. Puck stopped and turned to him.

"We don't know," he admitted, going on at the look on Kurt's face, "Okay, well, what's the last you remember?"

"The fire in McKinley," Kurt responded, eyes narrowed. "Santana hurt her wrist so I bent down to help her up, but instead, I got shoved over onto the ground. Then I woke up with you, San and a _bunch_ of other people I don't know, looking like they've stepped out of a museum exhibit!"

"Er, yeah," Puck said, shrugging, "That pretty much sums it up."

"What?" Kurt snapped irritably.

Puck sighed and continued, hands sliding into his front pockets, "Me and Santana woke up right here, in this goddamn meadow. We thought that the smoke we were in was a tornado, and that it had threw us a mile away or something, but then I saw an old-timey carriage with old-timey people."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Oh, you can't possibly believe we went back in time."

"I didn't believe it either!" Puck nearly yelled. "But look around you, Hummel! Those people we're camping with - do you think they're from the 21st century, huh?"

"I don't know! I just woke up!" Kurt retorted. Puck ran a hand over his Mohawk tiredly.

"Well, we can't just sit around here and wait for something to happen. I think we should travel along with those guys, try to figure out where we are and how we can get back without getting killed," Puck said.

"I…" Kurt sighed. "There's nothing I can say to change your mind, and I really want to get back home, so fine. We can go with them - if they let us. Did you talk to Santana about this yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, let's get back over there and talk to her about it, but I'm sure she'll be okay with it. She must miss Brittany," Kurt said, beginning to walk back, "Then we'll have to see about traveling with them - but Puck, I am not happy about this at all. I don't trust them."

"Of course you don't; you just woke up from being braindead for a day. You didn't even meet them."

"Oh, so you and Santana lovingly trust them already?""Don't be stupid," Puck snorted, "but what other choice do we have? Wait for another pack of travelers that might not be as nice?"

Kurt grumbled something unintelligible.

"And besides," Puck continued, "They've been pretty good to us. They're fixing up Santana's broken wrist, and they revived you from your Sleeping Beauty snooze. Plus, they don't want money for it! They're alright guys."

"But if they pull anything, I won't hesitate to fight them," Kurt mumbled angrily.

"Yeah, Hummel, you're real vicious," Puck chuckled. At this, Kurt fixed him with a glare that sent him scurrying away towards camp.

Upon arriving, David stood with a worried smile. "Kurt, I hope we haven't frightened you. If we did, I speak for the group in apologizing."

Kurt eyed him distrustfully, but accepted the apology. "It's alright. I just… wasn't expecting to wake up with so many unfamiliar faces around me."

David nodded. "That's understandable."

Puck slumped down to sit next to Santana again, her showing him her newly set wrist with a smug smile. Kurt took an empty spot he presumed was his while he had been concussed, sitting stiffly.

The boy Kurt had first seen waking up caught his attention, saying, "Is your head in the pink?"

"Uh…"

The boy smiled warmly. "Does your head feel okay? You aren't feeling any pain or a desire to sleep?"

"Oh, no," Kurt responded. "Thank you, by the way, for getting me up."

"It was my pleasure," he said, in a voice so sincere it was hard to convince Kurt to believe he was distrustful. "I'm Blaine Anderson."

"Kurt Hummel," he introduced, giving him a small smile.

Puck cleared his throat loudly, earning the attention of the surrounding pack. "Kurt, Santana and I have been kinda… lost. I know this is asking a lot of you, but would you mind if we tagged along with you guys? We just need to find some sort of town or something."

"Tagged along?" a voice, Nicholas, if Puck remembered correctly, asked.

"Traveled with," Santana explained, catching onto Kurt and Puck's plan. "We just would like to travel with you guys."

David grinned. "By all means! Go right ahead. However, I feel it fair to warn you that we won't be traveling back to our hometown for a little while."

"What?" Santana cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"We're performers! We travel about Britain to put on shows," Blaine clarified. "We have an assortment of talents in this group - we have singers, violinists, pianists…"

"Doesn't that classify you as an orchestra, but with singers?" Kurt asked.

"We've named ourselves the Warblers," David said, smiling slightly, "And that is what we refer to ourselves as."

"Well, whatever type of group you are, we'd still like to travel with you - as long as it's cool with you," Puck said.

"Yes, we'd be delighted to have you on board."

Santana grinned deviously. "You know, we're singers, too."

"Yes, we know!" Thad said, laughing. "We heard you and Puck singing that awfully strange song. You two are gifted."

"Gifted is right," David complimented, smiling, "Although we've never heard the song - or anything like it - we enjoy your voices."

Santana smiled complacently at the compliment, shrugged as if to say "I know". Puck grinned in spite of himself, waving it off and instead redirecting the attention to Kurt. "You gotta hear this kid sing," he said, "He can hit the high notes that only dogs can hear, and he can hit the low notes that make my balls shrivel up."

Kurt subdued a smile and a blush at Puck's unexpected appraisal. David turned, looking at Kurt with a grin. "We'll have to listen to you, Kurt, first thing in the morning, as it's getting vastly dark. I suppose we better tuck in for the night."

The company of people nodded and rummaged around to find the materials required for sleep. Kurt shifted uncomfortably, grimacing at the idea, and soon to be action, of sleeping on the ground. He laid down on his back, throwing Puck his jacket back, and settled down, as well as he could, for sleep.

Santana curled in on his side, cradling her bandaged wrist to her chest and sighing softly. Kurt found himself relaxing immensely at the sound of Santana's rhythmic breathing.

From his other side, Blaine called out, "Sleep well, everyone!"

Murmurings of assent and good tidings circled the group momentarily, before all went silent for the sake of sleep, and all that was heard was the snapping of the fire.

"We're fine, Kurt," Santana whispered, yawning. "Everything's fine."


	4. The Calm After the Storm

**A/N Pip pip a doodly doo. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

_**His Name Is Alice  
**__Chapter 4 - The Calm After The Storm_

Idly, as if not wanting to, the sun peaked over the wide expanse of hills. It's arrangement of warm colors crawled over the travelers faces and bodies, leaving each with a pleasant orange tint and temperate state of mind.

The group, Warblers and alike, slept soundly, resisting the coaxing heat of the sun as it tried to rouse them. Most, more like, as the sun had already awoken one member and had refused to let him lie back down into his dreamy unconscious.

Kurt sighed, lifting up a hand to rub roughly at his eyes, roughly stripping the sleep from himself and attempting to wake up. Upon looking around, however, it seemed that he was the first to even come around. He considered curling back up and returning to his doze, but he was far too alert for such a thing, and even if he was successful in doing so, the sun wouldn't let him sleep for long.

He groaned, realizing his predicament and trying to figure ways out of it. Everyone around him, even the ones he was wary and distrustful of, were still happily sound asleep. He had no desire to sit with his knees tucked to his chest, _waiting_ for someone else to come to, and likely force inept conversation less it be a Warbler to wake up next, so he stood carefully.

He tiptoed away from the camp and it's dying fire, self-aware and cautious of every step he took. Once a safe distance away, he let out a long breath and finally allowed himself a strong, long look around him.

Sloping hills branched out in all directions, ending nowhere and everywhere, and tucked off beyond the horizon was a forest, and to the distant, distant left a small road traveled into oblivion. Kurt remained silent.

Spotting a two-treed forest just before him, he set off towards it. His legs protested at the sudden strain after two days of simply not moving, but he ignored them and continued towards the top of the hill, his knee-highs shifting as the incline steepened.

At the feel of his boots against his skin, Kurt was hit with a sudden thought. He leaned down quickly and slithered a hand into his right boot, retrieving his deftly hid phone with a satisfied grin.

As expected, the phone's battery had just about run itself out. Quickly, before it died, Kurt tried to locate himself on his GPS, but to no avail. He checked for signal - nothing. It seemed fruitless to even keep holding the small thing, so he tucked it sadly into his pocket and continued on, hoping Santana or Puck had a functioning phone on hand.

The two trees sat proudly on the peak of the hill, gazing out to all directions. Kurt refrained from smiling at the success of reaching the apex and instead leaned against the trunk of one of the trees, letting his mind wander and his eyes gaze blissfully at the sunrise.

He looked down at his clothing, wincing in disgust as he took in the filth that had become his military-inspired shrug and long sleeve outfit. He tried brushing off the grime with his hand, but eventually gave up, knowing he was only making it worse.

He sighed and rested his head on the bark, staring off into the mesh of colors that was the sky, silently appreciating it. His mind, as if just now catching up with his body, stuttered and froze. The fear that had been forcibly pushed to the back of his mind the night before was brought quickly to the front, gnarled and twisted. He was scared, confused, and not ready to accept what was around him; nothing made sense. Sinister questions circled his body - _How did you get here? Where are you? What happened at McKinley? - _waiting for answers that they knew would never come. He breathed out a shaky breath, trying desperately to regain control of himself.

Not a moment later, his tense atmosphere disappeared as his mind sensed another presence behind him.

He whipped around, ready to fight, but was only encountered with Blaine Anderson, the boy he met the night previous. Kurt let his guard down, if only slightly, and nodded in greeting. "Good morning," he murmured, turning back to the sunrise.

Blaine joined him and rested his hands behind his back, standing cordially. "To you, too," Blaine responded. "The morning has brought us a magnificent sunrise."

"Yeah," Kurt sighed, "It has. I don't usually see sunrises, so this is a pretty rare moment for me."

"Why is that?" Blaine asked. Kurt shot him an inquisitive glance.

"School doesn't start until eight, and by that time the sun has already risen," Kurt said slowly, "Or in winter, I'm locked in a classroom and unable to see the sunrise from the window."

"Ah," Blaine said, nodding, "School."

"What? Didn't you go to it?"

Blaine moved his head indecisively, saying, "I did, but only for a short while. The assigned curriculum was strictly religion based, however, and didn't fit my preferences of learning."

Kurt nodded warily. "I see."

Blaine lowered himself to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him. Kurt instantly felt out of place and awkward standing, so he, too, slid down and sat down on the grass, abandoning all care to his jeans. Kurt moved to the right and invited Blaine to lean against the trunk with him. Blaine accepted, and soon the two were staring off at the sky once again.

"Interesting clothing choices," Blaine observed lightly. "I've never seen a fabric like this."

Kurt rubbed a hand unconsciously over his shrug, fingers tracing the buttons. "Yes, well, I could say the same to you."

Blaine smiled thoughtfully. Kurt looked sidelong towards Blaine and asked the question that has been bugging him since he came to, and Puck and Santana for much longer. "So, we're in Britain?" Kurt asked, to which Blaine nodded. "And the year is…?"

Blaine's eyebrows furrowed together, answering, "1874."

Kurt cleared his throat, forcing down the horrified cry that had built up, and strained himself to look back towards Blaine. "Yes," he ground out, "That sounds right."

Blaine paused. "You appear surprised. Were you and your companions traveling long, so much as to miss the birth of a new year?"

"Yeah," Kurt mumbled, "Yeah, that's what happened."

Blaine narrowed his eyes but did not push the matter. "Your clothing, your hair, your tongue - all are delightfully unfamiliar to me. Where does it derive from?" he asked, changing the subject.

Kurt bit the inside of his mouth and took his eyes someplace eyes, stalling and wondering frantically if he should reveal that piece of information or not. After a moment, a moment too long, Kurt said, "A place far, far away. I don't know if you'd know it."

"Tell me about it, then," Blaine responded, eyes alight. Kurt could not help but smile at the positively childish way Blaine held himself at the thought of new information.

"Alright, well," Kurt began, "Where I come from, pavement roads are more common than gravel ones. Carriages and trolleys are never used for transportation anymore. People under the age of 16 are required to go to school, whether it be elementary, junior, senior or even college. Clothing like this," he gestured to his ensemble, "isn't terribly widespread, though Puck's clothes are the usual."

Blaine nodded, a solid grin upon his face, egging him to continue. Kurt chuckled softly. "I don't know if I should go on," he admitted.

"But you must!" Blaine exclaimed. Kurt bit his cheek once more, refraining himself from saying too much.

When he sensed Kurt was unsure about continuing, Blaine paused, immensely saddened, yet guarded to not let Kurt know of his disappointment.

"But what the hell!" Kurt exclaimed suddenly. Blaine flinched back faintly at the cuss, rendering a shake of the head from Kurt, who went on to muse, "I suppose whenever the opportunity arises, I can tell you more about it. I don't see why not."

"That's just fantastic!" Blaine smiled. For the most indefinite of reasons, Kurt found himself returning the gesture. However, inwardly, he sighed - the sun was sitting daintily in the sky, long over it's rise, and Kurt stood.

Kurt said, "But not now. I think the others are waking up and we should get back down there."

Blaine rose to his feet as well, stretching his arms behind his head and grimacing at the sharp cracks of his settling bones. "I can see you're right."

The two joined together, side by side, to retreat down the hill towards camp and begin the, sure to be, long day. Blaine, with a newfound bounce in his step, did not say anything, and neither did Kurt, yet the silence wasn't uncomfortable in the least. Kurt found his thoughts wandering, drifting to outlying places and running back again, to Ohio and withdrawing into Britain, into the depths of uneasy fear and confusion to the adrenalizing pounds of thrill.

It seemed that his best route at this point was to hide out in the adrenaline and not let the uneasy fear and confusion overtake him - stay in Britain, stay in the 1870's. Reducing yourself to a restless, sick mess will only bring you down. You are here now. Stay here now. Begging and crying for a way back home will not _bring you back home_. When an opportune moment arises, seize it. Continue remaining calm.

Kurt let out a deep breath and forced a small smile on his face. Blaine noticed this and returned it happily, bringing up a story to tell Kurt as they ventured back to camp.

The idle, reassuring tone and voice of Blaine soon began to have an almost soothing affect on Kurt, and his found himself visibly relaxing, letting out the strain of his shoulders. This, added with the sight of Santana speaking with another Warbler, looking completely at ease, and Puck drooling against the ground in his sleeping stupor, the other travelers giggling at him from a foot back, lulled Kurt back into the contentment he had felt before falling asleep the night before.

Santana looked up to their approaching figures, and with a devilish look between Kurt and Blaine, gave a discreet thumbs-up and wink. Blaine tilted his head to the side in confusion, yet said nothing of it, and walked to his bags to pack up. Kurt stood near Santana, waiting for a free moment to speak with her. When that moment came, he took her aside and expressed his anxiety and fear over the entire situation, but admitted he was becoming more and more relaxed.

Santana nodded. "I get 'ya. We were just lucky enough to have run into these guys, who are pretty cool, instead of someone else _not_ so nice. I feel like, if it was any other person, I wouldn't have been this trusting of them so quickly."

"We just have to stay calm."

"We _are_ calm, Porcelain. Wanna know how I know that?" Santana asked, to which Kurt shook his head. She smiled and led him back towards the group, pushing a curl of hair away from her face.

"Because," she answered, "There's no reason _not_ to be calm. We will get back home, Kurt. You, Puck and I. We're fine."

"Yeah," Kurt agreed for the first time since arrival, "Everything's fine."


	5. Gracious Future

**A/N Songs in this chapter: Witch Doctor by David Seville (comes first), and Sunny Side by Bernard Covert, 1860 (comes last). **

_**His Name Is Alice  
**__Chapter 5 - Gracious Future_

Kurt stood off to the side, arms crossed across his chest, as he idly watched the Warblers pack up their belongings. Santana was off across the way, doing whatever Santanas do, Kurt mused, and Puck was heading towards him with his hands in his pockets.

Kurt nodded at him when he arrived, giving him a wary smile. He grinned roguishly back, eyebrows raised, one eye winking repeatedly. Kurt sighed and turned to him.

"What's in your eye, Noah?"

"Oh, nothing," Puck sang, "Maybe it's a muscle reflex I get whenever I'm around two post-orgasmic gays."

Kurt wrinkled his nose and gaped at him. "That's borderline offensive."

"Ah, man, I know it's true!" Puck said, laughing. "You and that Malachi dude were so fucking when we were sleeping."

Kurt spluttered indignantly, or as indignantly as one could when it's been insinuated they partook in a one night stand. He raised an arm to smack Puck's, saying, "That's ridiculous and so, so wrong, Puckerman!"

"Mm-hmm," was all the response Puck gave Kurt, eye still winking constantly. Kurt groaned and buried his face in his hands, shaking his head while Puck laughed boisterously.

Santana shuffled up to them, looking agitated and crestfallen. At her friend's raised eyebrows, she shrugged and waved them off, yet just as Kurt was about to question her, David, the obvious leader of the group, called his attention from where he was packing.

"Kurt!" he said, pausing his actions to stand straight to address Kurt. "I do believe you owe us your voice!"

Kurt backed up at the idea, shaking his head half-heartedly. The group around him egged him on, encouraging him with claps and words of praise, until finally Kurt relented. "Wonderful!" David exclaimed. "I'm sure we could do with a bit of musical milieu while we work!"

Santana draped herself over Kurt's shoulders, urging him to sing the song she liked. Kurt sighed, turning to Puck to provide a beat to go off on. To the three of them, it was just like Glee club rehearsal, yet they chose to not dwell on that. Kurt opened his mouth and sang. _"I told the witch doctor I was in love with you._

"_I told the witch doctor I was in love with you,  
And then the witch doctor, he told me what to,  
He said that…"_

Kurt, although hesitant at first, grew into his voice as his confidence arose. With Puck's loud rhythm to hold the words together, it almost sounded as if they had practiced this ten times over, even if it was just a childish song.

The Warblers set aside their tied bags and stood to listen to Kurt and Puck, fascination glinting in their eyes. Kurt continued, laughing lightly, reveling in their attention, coaxing Santana to join.

"_Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang, walla walla, bing bang  
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang, walla walla, bing bang!"_

By the end of the song, Kurt was shaking his head with a smile on his face as Puck and Santana did the same. Polite, subdued applause filled the campsite, and Kurt looked up to the shell-shocked, amazed faces of the Warblers. He gave them an inquisitive look.

"We applaud you!" Thad said, smiling. "While we admit to never hearing such a song, we enjoyed it and your voice!"

"Thanks," Puck said, throwing a punch to Kurt and Santana's arms. Kurt rolled his eyes. David shook their hands, smile strained but civil enough.

"Where are you three from?" he asked, voice taking on a labored and wary edge.

Kurt cleared his throat nervously, looking to Santana to provide an answer, to which she just shrugged and muttered, "Just a really far away place. We won't bore you with the details."

"Oh, no," David said, "You won't be boring us. I'm sure we're all very inclined to hear your tale."

"Oh, we're just from good ol' America," Kurt said, frowning. It wasn't a complete lie.

He received no response.

"Well, we best travel on! We have a strenuous day before us," David broke the silence, blinking slowly at the strangers. The three responded with shows of enthusiasm, and moved quickly away from David's judging and curious gaze.

The other Warblers seemed to take to their song, not thinking much of it's apparent absurdity, and were trying to reenact it as they began to walk. David lingered on his spot, watching from over his shoulder as his friends walked away from him, eyes narrowed on the three newcomers. Finally, he just relaxed and caught up to his group, discarding any foolish thoughts, just as his companions had.

Although the matter was apparently forgotten, it was not to Blaine, who was walking near the back of the group, mind reeling and intrigued. He was adamant about holding Kurt to his promise of telling him more about his homeland.

An hour passed, spent in walking and idle, barely-there, chitchat. Blaine straightened his shoulders and with a determined stride, went over to where Thad was walking alone and started up a conversation.

"That was an fascinating song, wasn't it, Thad?" he asked, sidling up to his side. Thad looked over to him and merely shrugged.

"I suppose."

"Could you please agree to disagree?" Blaine pressed. "Only an argument alone will banish these concerns from my mind."

Thad chuckled, head dipped. "You are being ludicrous, Blaine. What concerns are there to be had?"

"I assume you have read _A Christmas Carol_?" Blaine asked, voice low and secretive. Thad nodded slowly. "Dickens details the arrival of three ghosts: Past, Present and Yet To Come. He implies that the Past ghost, as his name entails, traveled forth from the past into the present to show Scrooge the error of his ways, and the same goes for Yet To Come."

"What are you getting at?" Thad asked suspiciously, slowing his walk.

"What if those three come from another _time_ entirely?"

"Blazes, Blaine! I _know_ you are not hinting towards time travel!" Thad hissed, stopping and turning to face Blaine. Blaine narrowed his eyes.

"You heard their song! Wasn't it just strange?"

"How so?"

Blaine mulled the words over in his head, trying to remember exactly what the song was. "For one, it had timed words to a different sort of beat than what we are used to."

"Has it occurred to you that they just practice different customs? With your adoration of other mores, I would've thought you could stand to be around them without your imagination breaking loose."

Blaine sighed, defeated. "I suppose you're right."

Thad smiled and clapped him on the back. "There we are. But it's alright - we know what you're getting at."

Blaine nodded and picked back up to walking. Thad followed quickly.

The group continued to walk, words softly spoken in pairs, but besides the scrap of voice, it was silent. Kurt was striding along the side of the pack alone, eyes glazed over in deep thought and concentration, as if he was thinking heavily through matters beyond him. Blaine watched him for a moment before shaking his head and looking away.

He was being foolish, believing Kurt was some sort of being from the Yet To Come. He knew there were other cultures beside his own - why, it was ignorant to believe otherwise! Yet, there was something about his new companions that simply perplexed him. He sighed. At least he had the opportunity to learn more about Kurt's homeland.

From the front of the pack, David had pulled out a violin and was pulling the strings merrily with his bow. Another Warbler began to sing a slow tune.

"_Always look on the sunny side, and though life chequer'd by;  
__A gladsome heart bids care depart, and time fly pleasantly.  
__Why sit and mourn o'er fancied ills when danger is not near?"_


End file.
